


Wallflower

by FlourishBelle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kisses, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlourishBelle/pseuds/FlourishBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the most interesting people are waiting at the edge of the party. Victorian era AU, where Mycroft and Greg meet as wallflowers at the Christmas ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wallflower

The sounds of music carried, muffled and energetic, colder still than the deep December snow. The damp landscape soaked through to his bones, and yet the night’s air felt like the only relief in the world to Gregory Lestrade. A glance over his shoulder showed the tie and tails of high society guiding sweeping gowns across the dancefloor. Laughing, talking, and dancing, the gilded and glittering young men and women would connect and coquettishly find their soon-to-be husbands and wives.  
Greg couldn’t help but be aware of the high stakes of the Christmas Ball, the importance of seeing and being seen there, of looking for a young wife among the attendees, as it’s all anyone spoke about. He also couldn’t help but feel suffocated under the weight of these facts. His mother fussed over his attire, ran conversations with him as if lines, prepping him for the night to come, ready for the young new Mrs. Lestrade to waltz away with her son.

  
And yet it wasn’t something he could do. As the snow crunched beneath his feet and he wandered further out over the grounds of the estate, the truth rang through him again. As he’d looked around the room at potential dance partners, his eyes did not follow the lovely young women made up in their gowns, and it was most certainly not a wife he wasn’t interested in taking. A familiar frustration welled, and slowly waned, as he found the frozen rose garden and greenhouse. He wandered among the hedges thinking, when he heard a voice.

  
“A bit cold for a walk, don’t you think?” The stranger was tall, in a coat and tails as the others, but decidedly different. He walked with an air of dignity that seemed ingrained in his very dna, without seeming pretentious. Not to mention that he was stunning. Lestrade was immediately intrigued.

  
“I’d hardly noticed.” He smiled playfully in return, then extended a hand. “Gregory Lestrade.”

  
“I am aware” the man said, not taking the gesture, “I’ve heard talk of you this evening, and noticed your absence. You’d seemed somewhat distressed, and not one much for snooping. I figured I’d find you outside.” He was all at once impressed, intrigued, and slightly taken aback.

  
“You’ve been watching me.”

  
“Well of course,” he had the gall to seem almost offended by the statement, “You’re the only interesting person at this blasted event.”

  
“I am, am I? And what would lead you to that conclusion?” They conversationally circled one another, though they stayed stationary beneath the cover of the greenhouse.

  
“You are a social person from what I’ve heard, and given that you are also currently working your way up through the ranks in the police service, it would be fair to assume that you know many of the attendees. Despite these facts, you hovered at the edge of the room, didn’t take a single dance partner, and seemed outwardly ill before fleeing the room.” These observations were delivered with a frankness that was nearly as refreshing as the winter air, and though he should probably be offended, these proclamations only drew him further into the enigma of this man.

  
“You know all this of me, and yet I still have yet to learn your name. I must say, I feel a few moves behind in this game. But I believe it’s fair to surmise that given that you’re currently out in the cold, shivering slightly, and spending time in this greenhouse with me tonight, you were looking for a way out of the ballroom as well. I can’t imagine that your penchant for observation goes over too well with the crowd in there.” This took the stranger by surprise it seemed, but then he laughed despite himself.

  
“Mycroft Holmes.” He said, extending his hand, “And you’re quite right. These things are preposterous. The whole horse-and-pony show for a future spouse is ridiculous, and not something that interests me.”

  
“So why come if these things are so preposterous?” He quirked a smile and began edging toward the door to wander back to the house. Mycroft fell in step beside him.

  
“My younger brother, Sherlock. To be quite honest, he didn’t want to attend either but as he is at prime age to be wed, I am forced to act as chaperone for the evening.” He rolled his eyes, and Lestrade laughed.

  
“I must admit I am also here because of someone else. A friend, Philip Anderson, insisted I come. Easy for him to say, he’s already long married.”

  
“I see. So I was correct about your aversion to being here. What I can never puzzle out is why.”

  
“That is always the question, isn’t it?” Lestrade was almost surprised at himself for being so flirtatious, but he couldn’t help but be drawn in.  
“I’m surprised that you aren’t in there wooing some young lady. I’m sure this was ‘the plan’.” Mycroft baited.

  
“Yeah actually, it was exactly the plan. Yet as it turns out, that’s not quite my division.” He turned to Holmes then, hoping that his point wasn’t missed, that he’d find understand there instead of judgement. To his utter relief, he found warmth in those blue eyes, and a knowing smile.

  
“I suspected as much. It’s not quite my area either.” They smiled together then, in the companionship of knowing, guarding a secret together. They’d wandered back through the gardens, and up to the warmth of the house again, as it began to snow. In the warm glow of the fire, safely tucked away from the other guests, they sat nurturing what grew between them.

  
“Mycroft Holmes, you may be the most interesting person I’ve met.” Greg whispered, leaning in.  
“And this is only the beginning, my dear.” Mycroft smiled, finally closing the distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm realizing how many fic ideas I have include/center around some sort of precipitation. I really do love it. Haha. Thanks for reading!


End file.
